Three Empty Seats

The air in the cremation ground was heavy with the scent of burning sandalwood and something far more unbearable—grief.

Aanya stood silently as the flames engulfed the mortal remains of her mother. The white saree she wore felt stiff against her skin, soaked from earlier rain and now drying slowly under the pale sun. Her fingers clutched the edge of her pallu as if holding onto something tangible in a world that had shifted beneath her feet.

The priest murmured the final prayers, and the logs crackled softly in response. Beside her, Aarush stood quietly, unmoving. He hadn’t said anything since the hospital. He hadn’t needed to. His red eyes and hollow face said it all.

But they were the only ones there.

Three seats remained empty.

Aaryan, the eldest—the mafia boss feared across the city. Abeer, the second brother—the doctor who patched bullet wounds and hearts with the same precision. Aarav, the third—the polished CEO who could manipulate boardrooms and investors alike. They weren’t there.

Her heart twisted.

Not even for their dying mother.

No calls. No texts. Not even flowers. The woman who gave them life had passed on, and they hadn’t even shown up to bid her farewell.

Tears stung Aanya’s eyes, but she blinked them away, locking her emotions behind a wall she’d built over the last five years. She handed the paperwork to the cremation staff, managing every formality like an automaton. Aarush followed, a silent shadow.

She didn’t ask for his help. He didn’t offer it.

Just as the fire reached its peak, the sound of screeching tires broke through the quiet.

Aanya didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn around.

But Aarush did.

Three black SUVs rolled to a stop just outside the cremation grounds. Doors swung open and out stepped the rest of them—Aaryan in his black kurta and commanding stance, Abeer in a muted blue shirt, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, and Aarav, sharp and cold in his crisp attire.

They arrived too late.

Aanya remained frozen, her eyes locked on the flames, refusing to look at them. It wasn’t anger—it was worse. It was indifference.

Aaryan was the first to approach, his footsteps heavy on the stone path. He stood a few feet behind her, saying nothing.

Abeer and Aarav followed. No one dared speak.

It was Aanya who broke the silence.

“You missed her last breath.”

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

Abeer swallowed hard. “We came as soon as we could.”

“Not soon enough.”

Aaryan stepped forward. “Aanya—”

She turned then, slowly, her gaze sharp as a blade. “Don’t. Don’t call me like we’re still family.”

Aarav looked away. Abeer flinched. Aaryan’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

“You sent me away,” she continued. “You cut me off. For five years, I wasn’t your sister. And now suddenly you show up when it’s convenient?”

“It’s not like that,” Abeer whispered.

“Then what is it like?” she asked, voice rising. “You weren’t there when she needed you. When I needed you.”

Aaryan tried again. “We’ll talk about everything, I promise. Just not here. Not now.”

Aanya shook her head, lips trembling. “There’s nothing left to talk about. She’s gone. And I buried her alone.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned her back to them and walked away from the fire, from the silence, from them.

Aarush looked between his older brothers and his sister’s retreating figure. Then, without a word, he followed her.

None of them moved.

Three brothers.

Too late.

Too silent.

Too far gone.

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